Chaser V Seeker
by astral symphony
Summary: "I've decided something." "Yes?" "You're really not all that important in Quidditch."   Oneshot. JL.  Rated T for a bit of language.


**author's note** | another little one-shot that's been floating in my brain. I have this strange obsession with Quidditch lately, I don't quite know why. oh well. it's providing inspiration so I shan't complain! anyway. something mostly silly, with a Patronus interlude, some Quidditch commentary, and just a little bit of cuteness.

(jk rowling owns all things i love.)

* * *

><p>"I've decided something," she announced suddenly, looking up from her Potions essay for the first time all afternoon. They had been in the Heads' office doing homework all day (or maybe just for a few hours – but it seemed to him like they'd been at it for an eternity) and James was shocked to hear Lily speaking. Earlier, whenever he attempted to strike up conversation, she would shoot him a glare worthy of McGonagall herself and point wordlessly to his work.<p>

Deciding not to push his luck just yet, he quirked an eyebrow and slowly answered, "Yes?"

"You're really not all that important in Quidditch."

And there he was, staring dumbfounded at the girl who sat in a chair across from him. She looked smug, self-satisfied, a stupid little smirk on her mouth. _That_ was the last thing he had been expecting her to say. Of course, he was hoping for something more along the lines of "I've decided you're not too bad a bloke and I think we should shag, now." All right, so maybe such a declaration as that was maybe a little out of reach – but at least a "You're not too bad, let's go to Hogsmeade together on Saturday" or an even more attainable "I'm bloody sick of doing homework, let's take a break." But no. Evans did not say any of these things. In fact, he was fairly certain she just told him he wasn't –

"I'm sorry, _what_?" he sputtered, shaking his head as if there was water in his ears. He must not have heard her properly.

"I mean, all right," she said, smoothing out her parchment over the arm of the chair, that cruel sense of satisfaction lingering about her, still. "You're the Captain, I'll give you that, but –"

"_Yes I bloody well _am_ the Captain_!" he seethed. "The Captain of a winning team, I'll have you know!"

"But it's not because of you, Potter." James stared blankly at her, not believing his ears. Surely this girl had gone absolutely off her rocker. He cursed himself as she took his incredulous silence for an opportunity to keep explaining herself (as if that would make it any better, he thought bitterly). "You see, you're just a Chaser. It's the Seeker that does all the work. Even the Beaters, they're there to help keep the Seeker safe. I suppose to be fair, the Keeper is pretty pointless by my argument as well. But the whole 'Chaser' position – well, you're just a tool."

"A tool," he repeated slowly.

"Towards winning."

He blinked. "I am a tool towards winning."

She nodded, smirking that awful smirk as she clarified. "Yes, and the Seeker does all the work. You see, you're not this big Quidditch hero that everyone makes you out to be, Potter." He resented the easiness of her voice, the lightness of her tone as she spoke. He slouched down in his chair, glaring at her from behind his glasses, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. "Although I suppose you're more of a distraction."

"Can't keep your eyes off me on the field, Evans?" he dared, running a hand through his hair. Yes, he thought, perfect: catch her off guard with the snarky, flirty comments she claimed to hate.

But she brushed this off, didn't even remark with the usual "Shove off it, Potter." Instead, she continued on with her blasphemous theory. "Chasers go around, scoring points – and for what? Nine-and-a-half times out of ten it's the Seeker who causes a win with their little one-hundred-fifty point ball. You get ten points per goal. Do the math. Anyway, you're just there so that spectators don't get bored. I will say that the game would probably be a lot more dull if there weren't Chasers going around scoring pointless points. But truly, you're just a –"

"I – no. No, no, no." He sat forward, face set with determination. "Don't even get me talking about Quidditch, Evans. Chasers are there to help _cushion_ the win. You see, if we are scoring points it takes the pressure off of the Seeker, just a little. The more I score, the better the win. And for your information, Miss _I'm-Suddenly-An-Expert-On-Quidditch_, there have been plenty of times when the team who caught the Snitch _didn't_ win!"

"Well, yes," she said with a very reasonable tone that just seemed to irritate him. "Like I said, nine-and-a-half times out of ten it's the Seeker who makes a win. So that's point-five times out of ten that the Chasers win."

"More than that!" he insisted. "There was the York-Ireland match of '23, when O'Brien caught the Snitch but York won by twenty-points up. Famous match, a lot of raging drunk Irishmen that year at the World Cup. And don't even get me started on the France-Bulgaria match of '61. My dad was at that game, told me all about it. Bulgaria's bloody Seeker caught the Snitch when he _knew_ France was up one-hundred-sixty points. Stupid wanker. Then he got disqualified from the National Quidditch Association when he beat up Dubois to a bloody pulp. The Medi-Wizards had their hands full that day." He shook his head, feeling nostalgic to the tale. "But my point is," he pressed on, "it's all about the team, Evans. You're talking about Quidditch like you know all about it – but there are a lot of details a team has to pay attention to, little nuances and intricacies. The Captains of those teams that lost were probably furious with their Seeker, because a good Seeker would know to hold off on catching the Snitch until the very right moment. If the other team is ahead so much, it's _imperative_ that: one, the Chasers start stepping up their game and two, the Seeker is tuned into the game enough to be aware that he-or-she needs to hold off. It's _all about the team_."

Lily was smiling ever so slightly. He wished she wouldn't. She was supposed to look peeved that he had just trumped her stupid theory. He almost told her so, but she spoke instead. "How is it that you can rattle of dates and names of Quidditch matches you've only heard about but you can't tell me anything about the history of Polyjuice Potion or the Goblin-House Elf Riot of 1732 or –"

"Easy, Evans. I actually care about Quidditch. Those are things I just learn so I can sit the exam and pass. Who cares _how_ some bloke discovered the _Expecto Patronum_ charm so long as _I_ can do it?"

"Can you?" she asked, sounding mildly shocked.

"Huh?"

"A Patronus. We haven't learned those yet. We don't start until next month and even then, we'll be working all term on them. You can do one already? Is it corporeal?"

James shrugged, reaching for his wand on the table. He quickly considered a happy thought – the first time he played Quidditch, becoming Captain and winning the Cup last year, finding out he was Head Boy to Lily Evans' Head Girl, his first proper conversation with Evans when she deemed him a decent mate – and muttered the charm. A large silver stag shot out from his wand, filling the office with a new sort of warmth and brightness. It bound through the space, leaving a trail of silvery mist in his wake. His eyes turned to Lily, feeling strangely proud of the expression on her face: a mix of awe and shock.

"Anyway," he said, clearing his throat and breaking the connection with the Patronus. He vanished in thin air, Lily staring at the spot as if willing him to return. "Don't think you're going to distract me from making my point that easily, Evans, acting all impressed and whatnot. Back to Quidditch –"

"It is impressive, James," she said with an easy shrug. She said this matter-of-factly, not gushing or adoring, which rather made him feel even better about the whole thing. He couldn't fight back the smile.

"Thanks," he said, but pressed forward. "_However_, we have more important things to discuss. Like the fact that I refuse to let you finish off this year thinking that I, as a Chaser, am simply a distraction."

She let out a laugh. "You are the definition of one-track mind, Potter." She met his eyes, raising an eyebrow. "Speaking of distractions, I do think it's time to go back to work." And with no final word on the matter, she returned to her essay.

_Damnit_, he thought. He was really hoping for a "We should snog" sort of distraction.

_xxx_

The next Gryffindor match was two weeks later, against Ravenclaw. Lily couldn't help her thoughts from wandering to her conversation – or perhaps it was a debate – with James. She smirked, pulling her red-and-gold scarf tighter around her neck and securing her hat on her head from the breeze. Since becoming friends with James Potter she had discovered a new pastime of poking and prodding his buttons, trying to get a rise from him. Perhaps that made her a bad friends, but she rather felt that he enjoyed it as much as she did. There was never any hostility, after all, and besides: he provoked her just as much as she did him. It was surprising to her how well they knew just what to say or do in order to get the desired reaction.

As Lily watched the match, she couldn't help but notice that the Gryffindor team was playing with a different strategy. She was no expert on the Quidditch playbook, but she couldn't help but notice this game was lasting longer than usual. The Gryffindor Seeker, Colin McKinnon, was well-known for catching the Snitch early and ending games faster than any of the other teams. Today, though, he was hovering high above all the other players, scanning the field rather half-heartedly. Occasionally, he would make a dive, causing the Ravenclaw Seeker to follow suit, thinking for sure that his opponent had seen a glint of gold. It was never the case, though, and McKinnon would just fly back up and search.

James and his two other Chasers were very keen on scoring goals, she noticed. Of course, they always worked towards scoring – but this time, there was a fierceness in their game. The Ravenclaw Keeper, a fourth-year who was new to the team, was caught off-guard by the constant action put on by Potter, Vance, and Prewett and kept on letting in goals.

Her eyes were focused mainly on James, she admitted to herself. He was a very good flier, and an excellent player. He was certainly on his game today, scoring seventy out of the one-hundred-twenty points that had been scored already. Ravenclaw only had thirty points to their name. She glanced up to McKinnon, eyebrows furrowed as he started to make a move to the ground. He stopped abruptly, though, and looked around him, presumably for the opposing Seeker. He seemed antsy and Lily wondered if he had seen the Snitch.

This strange display went on for another hour and a half. Ravenclaw, which consisted of five new players this year, was not a particularly good team, she noted – Gryffindor was taking their sweet time with the match. In that time, James had scored forty more points; Vance and Prewett also scored several times, bringing the score to 190-30. (She had to commend the Gryffindor Keeper for being so adept at blocking.) Only when the game ended, twenty minutes later, did it dawn on her what she had just witnessed.

Colin McKinnon had _seen_ the Snitch. He went for it, as did Chang. And as if McKinnon had been stunned or confunded or maybe both, he faltered, zig-zagging slightly. This moment allowed Chang to reach out an arm and catch the tiny, winged ball.

The game concluded: 190-180, Gryffindor's win. Ravenclaw caught the Snitch.

_xxx_

Later in the Common Room, James was smiling, laughing at the shouts coming from Marlene Simons and Sirius Black ("_The fuck _was_ that, McKinnon!" _"You're damn lucky your team scored so much!") as they heckled the blonde-haired boy who simply shrugged. He made his way through the mass of celebratory Gryffindors, clapping their hands on his back as he passed and shouting slightly-slurred congratulations at him. He always loved the post-win adrenaline that filled the Common Room after a match. He made his way to the wall at the back of the room, leaning against it and observing the action. He ran a hand through his hair before taking a swig from the Firewhiskey he held in his other. He scanned the room, eyes settling on a red-haired girl making her way towards him.

"Good game."

He greeted her with a tilt of his chin, grinning still. "Thanks, Evans."

"I'd probably need two hands to count all the times that Colin _could_ have caught the Snitch," she remarked.

"You'd also need two hands to count all the goals I scored," was his smart retort. He offered her the Firewhiskey, which she declined, raising a bottle of butterbeer to her lips instead.

She laughed. "Glad to see you're so modest, Captain."

"Well what did you think?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

"About the game?"

"Mhmm."

She paused. "Point proven, Potter." Lily smirked and held out her hand, which he took, shaking it. She laughed, patted him on the arm, and started to turn away.

"Hey, wait!" he called after her. She stopped, regarding him carefully. "You have to say it."

"Huh?" she questioned.

"Say, 'You are not a tool towards winning _or_ a distraction, James Potter.'"

She let out a quick little laugh, shaking her head at him and continuing to walk away. He stopped her, though, grabbing her hand. She seemed caught off-guard by this but didn't pull away. He smiled at this. "Say it, Evans," he said, stepping closer to her and slinging his arm around her shoulder instead.

"Nope," she resisted.

"But it's true."

"Maybe."

He brought his face closer to hers, eyes narrowed slightly. She raised an eyebrow and he smirked. "I won that game."

"Fine," she agreed.

"So say it."

"I won't!" she insisted with a laugh, smiling up at him.

He felt his voice catch in his throat and he was finding it increasingly difficult to not kiss her right then and there: the way she was looking at him, her eyes on his, bright and sparkling; her mouth, forming that grin; her face so close to his he could see every faint freckle. It was enough to drive a bloke mad, and he had to wonder if she had any idea. She must, he thought. She was always provoking him and teasing him. He figured that's exactly what she was doing now, too. With an inward sigh and in order to lessen the temptation, he removed his arm from around her and reinstated his post against the wall.

She crossed her arms, still grinning. "One game does not a non-tool make, James Potter."

"Denial, Lily Evans," he said simply, taking another swig from the Firewhiskey. And as she walked away, shaking her head slightly, her laugh resonated in his ears and her smile seemed imprinted on his eyelids and he cursed himself silently for not snogging the girl senseless just then.


End file.
